


Worst Altar Boys in Santa Cecelia

by sweetiepie08



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 03:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14150508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiepie08/pseuds/sweetiepie08
Summary: Poor Hector has a talent for turning dumb mistakes into full-blown disasters. He should have known that altar serving would be no exception. At least he has his best friend by his side and a friendly older neighbor to confide in. He isnâ€™t trying to cause trouble. It just sort of turns out that way. But can he pull it together and step up when it counts?





	Worst Altar Boys in Santa Cecelia

“The two priests you need to worry about are Padre Eduardo and Padre Manuel,” Ernesto explained as they made their way down the street. Héctor, still an energetic ten year old, often veered off to the side to jump off a stoop or kick a stone. Ernesto, fourteen now, eschewed such childish (though fun looking) things and kept straight on down the road, occasionally calling for his friend to keep up and pay attention. “Now, Padre Manuel isn’t so bad. He’s not too strict, but he is _old_ hermanito. I think he could have met Moses he’s so old. He doesn’t see very well, so sometimes you’ll have to shove things right into his hands or he’ll drop them. His voice is also really gravelly and he can be hard to understand, but that’s not such a problem once you get the mass routine down. Padre Eduardo, on the other hand…” Ernesto paused to give himself enough time to fully cringe. “He’s younger but you do not want to get on his bad side. I’ve been screamed at so many times, my ears are still ringing.”

“So, you’re already on his bad side?” Héctor asked, kicking a rock ahead of himself.

“Not exactly,” Ernesto said. “I was but then I started singing along with the hymns and he was impressed with my dedication.”

“So, sing the hymns with Padre Eduardo. Got it.” Héctor spotted an open crate laying on its side. With some fancy footwork, he shot the rock off to the side and into the dead center of the open crate. “But what if I mess up or forget something?”

“That’s when you get screamed at.”

“Oh, great…” His shoulders slumped. He hated getting screamed at, and he knew if he got it from Padre Eduardo, it’d get back to Mama and he’d be in twice as much trouble. At least Ernesto’s parents were never around to yell at him. “What happens if-”

“Hey, hey, wait, wait, wait…” Ernesto threw his arm out in front of Héctor and sniffed the air. “You smell that?”

Héctor gave the air a big whiff and immediately replaced his dower face with a grin. “Señora Morales made pan dulce!” he clapped his hands together and gave the air another dreamy whiff. “Oh, it smells fresh too…”

“Well, come on.” Ernesto waved him forward. “Let’s go get some.”

“I don’t think she made it for us, hermano.”

Ernesto looked at him like he didn’t see the problem. “So? I’ll bet we can get some anyway.  Here, get on my back.” He crouched down and Héctor climbed up. “Now try to look pathetic, like you haven’t eaten in weeks.” Héctor flopped against Ernesto’s back and buried his face between Ernesto’s shoulder blades. “Maybe moan a little…” Héctor let out a soft “mmmff” and Ernesto smiles. “That’s it.” He walked them down a few doors and paused just before they turned the corner. They could hear her humming as she swept the steps. “Okay, there’s her house. Show time.” He put on his best concerned big-brother voice and said, “Come on, hermanito, just a little further. We’ll get some food in you in no time.”

A stout older woman looked up from sweeping and gave them a big smile. “Hola boys! Is he alright?” she asked, pointing at Héctor’s boneless form.

“Yeah, he should be fine soon.” Ernesto gave Héctor a little toss as he readjusted his grip. “He’s just starving. See, he’s supposed to start as an altar boy next Sunday. We spent all day practicing, but, we got carried away and forgot to break for lunch. Poor Héctor here is so nervous, he skipped breakfast too.”

“I’m sorry Ernesto,” Héctor said, lifting his head. “I just wanted to get everything perfect. I couldn’t tell if my belly hurt because I was nervous or hungry. Now I know, it’s both.” He weakly dropped his head again.

“Oh you poor things.” Señora Morales set her broom aside and clasped her hands over her heart. “You worked so hard. You’re growing boys. You need to eat. Come in. I just whipped something up.”

They followed her inside and they sat down at her kitchen table. She got out two plates and gave them each a tamale. “You boys excited to start altar serving?” she asked.

“Yes, I mean, I’m starting, but Ernesto’s been doing it for a while.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’ve seen you at mass. You know, my Victor was an acolyte. I was so proud, seeing him in his robes.”

“That’s nice,” Ernesto said between bites.

“You boys remind me of him, especially you, Héctor. He couldn’t gain a pound when he was your age either.”

Ernesto chuckled and Héctor kicked him under the table. “How is Victor up north?” Héctor knew Victor. He liked Victor. They didn’t interact much as Victor was a good ten years older than him, but there were times where he’d join them for a ball game outside or catch them making trouble but only acknowledge it with a wink and a smirk. One time, when Héctor ran to the market for his Mama, some bullies decided to jump him for his groceries. Victor happened to be nearby and stepped in. He chased the bullies away and helped Héctor repair his bruised pride with a joke and a laugh. “Anyone messes with you again, just let me know, chamaco,” Victor said as he gave Héctor a pat on the back.

“Oh, he’s doing fine, I suppose,” she mused, looking out the window. “He writes and sends money when he can. I just hope that…”

“Hope what?” Héctor asked.

“Never mind, I shouldn’t worry you boys,” she said, turning back to them, a cheery smile on her face once again. “It’s a beautiful day, you boys should be outside.”

She took their empty plates and they got up from the table. Ernesto eyeballed the plate of pan dulce by the window. Señora Morales followed his eye line and gave them a sly smirk. “Would you boys like some?” she asked, nodding her head toward the plate.

“Sí, por favor,” Héctor answered, a smile growing from ear to ear. He was never one to turn down free food, especially something sweet. He took the piece offered to him and shoved half of it in his mouth. “Muchas gracias” he said while covering his chewing mouth.

“Héctor…” Ernesto scolded, giving him a don’t-be-such-a-kid glare.

Héctor quickly swallowed and looked down at the floor while the heat rose in his cheeks. Did Ernesto really have to correct him all the time? Especially in front of other people? He knew Ernesto was just trying to make him act more grown-up but did he have to do that now? Why couldn’t he just let Héctor enjoy things? Ernesto kept glaring at him, so Héctor mumbled out a quick “lo siento” and took a smaller bite.

Satisfied, Ernesto relinquished his glare. “Gracias, Señora,” he said, flashing the dazzling charming-young-man smile he’d been working on.

“Run along now,” she said, a fragile smile forming on her lips. “You don’t want to waste this lovely day.”

Ernesto thanked her again and started for the door, but Héctor lingered. He saw some sadness in Señora Morales’ face and felt a twinge in his heart. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but stopped when he heard Ernesto snap his name.

“Héctor, come on. We don’t want to bother the lady any longer,” Ernesto called from the door.

Maybe Ernesto was right. Maybe he shouldn’t pry. Héctor gave her an apologetic smile, thanked her for the food, and ran off with his friend.

[-]

The morning of Héctor’s first mass rolled around and, to his chagrin, Padre Eduardo was serving that day. He was nervous enough as it was, but Ernesto’s stories about other boys who messed up around Padre Eduardo made him extra jumpy. He made sure to get there early and get his robe on. Apparently, Padre Eduardo hated when the altar boys took too long getting ready. He and Ernesto got there about the same time. There was supposed to be a third, but he hadn’t arrived yet. They just finished putting on his robe when Padre Eduardo stalked into the sacristy.

“Boy,” Padre Eduardo barked from behind him.

Héctor jumped and turned around, knowing that meant him. Ernesto warned him that Padre Eduardo took a while before learning names. “Sí, Padre?”

The priest reached into his sleeve and produced a matchbook. “Get those candles lit,” he ordered, tossing it to Héctor. Without another word, he stalked back out.

“And that was Padre Eduardo,” Ernesto said, once the priest had gone.

“That’s it? No introduction? No ‘here’s how you do it’?”

“Nope, just get to work,” Ernesto said, grabbing two brass candle lighters. “Here, we’ll each do half. When Padre Eduardo orders one boy to do something, he usually means everyone.”

Ernesto held out the candle lighters and Héctor took out a match. He honestly wasn’t sure what to do. He’d never been allowed to light a match before. His mother did _not_ trust him to handle fire and anyone who knew his history of accidental disasters knew why. Ernesto was an exception to this rule. He was always trying to get his friend to do more grown-up things and Héctor supposed using matches was one of them. 

He tried running the match along the strip the way he’d seen adults do it. Nothing. He figured he just didn’t do it hard enough and tried again. Still nothing. _Okay, maybe the strip is just worn out._ He tried a third time and broke the match. Ernesto rolled his eyes and let out an irritated huff. Héctor frowned and looked at the matchbook like he was solving a puzzle. How did Mama do it? Oh yeah, she put the flap down and pinched it between her fingers. Héctor tried just that but apparently he pinched too hard and broke another match.

“Just let me do it.” Ernesto said, resting the candle lighters in the crook of his elbow and reaching for the matchbook.

“No, I got it.” Héctor already had another match pinched against the strip. Ernesto grabbed at the matchbook. In one swift motion, Héctor both pulled the matchbook away and lit the match. However, the match flew out of his hand and landed on the edge of a tablecloth.

The flame began to grow and spread. Ernesto shoved the candle lighters into Héctor’s arms, grabbed a book off a nearby table and started beating the fire out.

“Wait, wait wait,” Héctor gasped. “That’s not a bible, is it?”

Ernesto stopped when the flames died. They both froze, neither one brave enough to take a closer look at the now-scorched book. After a minute, Ernesto worked up the nerve to peak at the cover and breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s just the Eucharistic ministers’ sign-in book.”

“What are we going to do?” Héctor asked, pulling at his own hair. “What are we going to tell Padre Eduardo?”

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” Ernesto said, getting up. “We’re going to hide the book. Then, after mass, you’ll take it with you and get rid of it somehow.”

“Me?”

“Yes, this is your fault. You dropped the match.”

“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t tried to grab it.”

“This is no time to argue.” Ernesto shoved the book into Héctor’s hands and took the candle lighters back. “Stash the book before someone sees.”

Héctor twisted his head around, looking for somewhere to hide the evidence. He spotted a gap between a cabinet and a wall. He shoved the book in the gap and made a mental note to remember it after mass. “Okay, what do we do about the tablecloth?”

Both boys looked at the burnt black splotch marring the previously pristine, white tablecloth. “Quick, turn it around,” Ernesto said. They immediately began taking things off the table and twisting the cloth so that the burnt side was against the wall.

“What are you guys doing?”

The boys turned to see the third altar boy, Carlos, standing in the doorway.

Carlos’ eyes fell on the black splotch on the tablecloth. “Did you guys set it on fire?” he gasped. “You could have burned the whole church down!”

“And you’re gonna keep your damn mouth shut about it, Carlos,” Ernesto warned.

“Please Carlos,” Héctor begged. “It’s my first day. I don’t want Padre Eduardo to kill me on my first day.”

Carlos rubbed the back of his neck as he looked back and forth between the boys and the burn stain. “I’ll…just go get my robe on,” he finally said, headed for the cabinet.

They boys finished turning the tablecloth and put everything back where it was. When Padre Eduardo stormed back in a few moments later, demanding to know why the candles weren’t lit yet, he didn’t notice anything was amiss.

[-]

Héctor tried his best to look appropriately reverent all through mass, but he couldn’t help nervously twisting his fingers. He kept going over in his head how to dispose of the book and different ways he could get caught. Luckily, he made few mistakes during the mass itself and only earned irritated glares from Padre Eduardo. At least there was no yelling.

He and Ernesto lingered after mass, pretending to talk about this & that until Carlos and Padre Eduardo left. Once they were gone, Héctor pulled the burnt book from its hiding place.

“Know how you’re going to get rid of it?” Ernesto asked.

“I think I’ll just hide it under my bed until I think of something better.”

“No, don’t do that! What if your mother finds it?”

Héctor nervously flipped the book in his hands. Ernesto had a point. His mother would want to know why he was hiding a burnt book under his bed. She’d get the truth out of him then drag him down to the church and make him tell Padre Eduardo about what he’d done. Oh, he’d be in for one of Padre Eduardo’s infamous screaming sessions then.

“Look, just take it with you and dump it somewhere on your way home,” Ernesto insisted.

“You’re not coming with me?” Héctor asked. “But we live on the same street.”

“I’m not going home. I’m meeting up with Camila González,” Ernesto answered, a proud smile tugging at his lips.

Héctor rolled his eyes. Ernesto just started getting interested in girls, in the kissy-kissy kind of way. Héctor himself just didn’t see the appeal (at least not yet). At least Ernesto didn’t bother him with the details.

“Look, just toss it in an alley somewhere,” Ernesto said, holding him by the shoulders. “Bury it under some trash. Just make sure it doesn’t get back to you.”

Héctor let out a long breath. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Ernesto said, giving his friend a light, playful push as he removed his hands. “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting her in the Plaza for a dance. We’ll hang out tomorrow.”

Héctor watched Ernesto walk out the door. Once his friend was gone, he opened the book and started flipping through it. It wasn’t burnt _too_ badly. It was just the cover and a chunk of the first pages. Maybe if he just tore off the burnt parts… Padre Eduardo would want to know why the book was all torn up. No, that wouldn’t work. Ernesto was right. He’d just had to get rid of the whole thing.

[-]

Héctor tried his best to look inconspicuous as he carried the burnt book with him on his way home. He thought about sticking it down his shirt so no one could see it, but he was far too skinny for that to look anything but ridiculous. So, he hugged the burnt side to his chest, covered the other side with both arms, and hoped he didn’t just happen to run into any Eucharistic ministers.

As he made his way down the street, it occurred to him that he just stole from a church and his palms started to sweat. _It’s okay,_ he told himself. _It’s just one little sign-in book. It was going to get thrown away once it was full anyway. They can always just get another one. God doesn’t send people to hell for stupid screw-ups, right?_ He wondered if he should bring this up at confession, but that would mean confessing to Padre Eduardo who was the last person he wanted to find out. No, he was stuck taking this secret to his grave. God would understand, right? He wondered if Jesus ever got into stupid messes like this.

Señora Morales smiled and waved at him from her window and he smiled and waved back. His stomach did another twist. Damn, he was almost home and he still hadn’t found anywhere to ditch the book. He kept looking as nonchalant as possible as he walked on, but grimaced as soon as he was out of Señora Morales’ site. He had to hurry. Home was only a few streets away and he’d be in big trouble if his mother saw the book. His mind went into a panic. _What do I do? What do I do?_

He heard a bark behind him and an idea sprung to his mind. He turned to see the gray xolo dog who like to hang out on his street. Héctor knew this dog. It liked to sleep under his bedroom window and his mother scolded him all the time for tossing it spare bones. The dog would definitely help him out. It was busy biting at a stick as Héctor approached him. “Dante,” Héctor called gently and the dog looked up at him. “Dante, want a new chew toy?”

Dante sat straight up and barked excitedly. Héctor held the book out at the dog’s mouth-level. “Here you go. Chew as much as you want.”

Dante grabbed the book in his jaws. He held one side down with one paw and gnawed at the spine. The knots in Héctor’s stomach began to loosen. This was good. Dogs rip stuff up all the time. Maybe he’ll even bury it. “Good boy, Dante,” Héctor said as the dog started tearing at the pages. He gave Dante a pat on the head and the dog scampered off with its prize.

Héctor’s heart felt so light, he ran the rest of the way home, creating his own wind and letting it whip him in the face. There. Done and done. It was out of his hands. If anyone found Dante with the book, they couldn’t get too mad about it. Dante was a dog after all. He didn’t know any better. And if they wondered how the dog got the book, they couldn’t trace it back to him.

He did it. He survived his first day as an altar boy and his first mass-related disaster. There’s no way it could be as bad next week. He couldn’t possibly mess up any worse than nearly burning down the church. Next time just had to get better, right? Right?


End file.
